


Your favourite words

by TeaHouseMoon



Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017), Call Me By Your Name - All Media Types, Call Me by Your Name - André Aciman
Genre: Angst, Early morning talk, Elio wants to know about their future, M/M, Sex, they’re in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-03
Updated: 2017-12-03
Packaged: 2019-02-10 02:40:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12902193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TeaHouseMoon/pseuds/TeaHouseMoon
Summary: Elio wants to talk about their future.This is a follow up to my story ‘Easter, 1984’, but I think it can be read as a stand-alone.Just know that Oliver is back and no longer engaged to be married.





	Your favourite words

Elio was bored.

The house was too quiet, too unmoving. The air too still.  
He knew why - it was five o’clock in the morning after all. But the beating of his heart and the adrenaline he felt in his veins screeched loudly against that stillness - it wouldn’t do. It just wouldn’t.  
He was growing restless and irritated, no matter how hard he tried to smother the feeling.

Oliver slept next to him. Body relaxed - unconscious, but he was reaching out with his arm to touch Elio, fingers on the boy’s flank.

If he wiggled, Elio figured, the fingers would have tickled.

He stared at Oliver for a while. His long eyelashes, blonde against his skin. His strong, square jaw; Elio could see the shadow of facial hair. He wanted to rub his own, smooth, cheeks against it, get razor burn, to go with Oliver’s smell on his body and the ache in his tummy as a reminder of what they had done, every night since Oliver returned.

  
“Sleep.”

  
Oliver’s voice almost didn’t register in Elio’s brain, so intent in remembering and anxious anticipating.

“I don’t want to.”

Elio watched Oliver sigh, deeply, his eyes still closed.

“It’s early.”

Elio didn’t respond. Only turned around, laying properly on his back. Stared at the ceiling.

“Are you in pain?”

Elio rolled his eyes. He’d lost count of how many times Oliver had asked. He wasn’t a child, and he wasn’t going to break.

“I told you I’m fine,” he answered him. Could not stop an irritated sigh from escaping his lungs.

Oliver didn’t react.

Elio waited for him to say something, even though he knew it wasn’t going to happen. He bit his lip, and waited more. He swore he could hear, literally hear, the seconds ticking away.

Time could be so infuriating.

“I want to go with you when you go back to Columbia.”

For a moment, he wondered if Oliver had even heard him.  
He set his jaw. Frowned.

How long? How long to say something back?

_Hurry up, Oliver. Or you’ll be able to hear my heart beat out of my chest._

Oliver pulled back his arm, and Elio felt bereft.

“I guess we’re done with sleeping, for this morning,” Oliver said to the air around them, and then glanced over at Elio.  
Elio didn’t mean to pout, but he was, pouting.

He refused to look, but felt Oliver move next to him, pull himself up to sitting and then lean over. Oliver’s hand grabbed gently his cheek; Oliver kissed him. Slow, brief at first, then deep when Elio opened his mouth for him - _I am shameless._

“Answer me.” He pushed against Oliver’s chest with a hand.

Oliver kissed his cheek; his jaw, the side of his throat.

Elio pushed at him again, even as he lifted his chin up to be kissed - neck kisses were his addiction, and Oliver knew it. Oliver grabbed his wrist and held it back, against the pillow, to still be allowed to kiss; Elio fought back to liberate his arm, bicep tense, but he was no match for Oliver’s strength.

“Answer me,” he still insisted.

Oliver hovered over him, half-sitting, still holding Elio’s wrist captive against the pillow, making his tendons burn.

Elio wanted the whole of Oliver on him.

“You’re not going to like my answer.”

Elio held his eyes.

_You still have to tell me._

“It will make you angry with me.”

Elio knew the answer, of course, but he still felt terrified. What if it wasn’t what he thought, what if it was something else? Oliver coming to his senses; Oliver changing his mind. Anything could be?

“Why would I be angry with you?”, he tried, voice frayed. His eyes glittered in the darkness; he could see the worry in Oliver’s expression.

“Listen,” Oliver sighed. He let Elio’s wrist go. “All I want is to take you away with me. Start a life together. See you every day. Sleep with you every night.”

“But you’re seventeen. You’re still finishing school. And I need to work. While it would bring us happiness to be together, here or back in the US, it wouldn’t be fair, and there’s times when you need to do what’s fair.”

Oliver’s breathing was harsher, too.

“It doesn’t mean I’m leaving you. It doesn’t mean we’re not together. That our hearts aren’t as one.”

_I am an idiot for bringing this up.  
Forgive me. Forgive me, Oliver._

“Can I come and visit you?”

Above him, Oliver smiled.

“I would like that very much.”

“And I’ll be eighteen in two months,” Elio’s still spoke, quietly. “When I’m done with school? I can come over and be with you.”

This time Oliver chuckled.

“I would like that, above all else. But only if your parents aren’t going to hate me for stealing you away.”

 _You stole everything from me, Oliver,_ Elio was thinking. _And yet I would give you even more. I would._

“I’m not mad at you,” Elio said. His eyes fell on Oliver’s lips. He needed him again. _Our union last night is too long ago now._

“Good,” Oliver chuckled, and stroked his cheek with a tender finger. “You scared me.”

They kissed, and Elio shut his eyes, kept them closed and tried to block out his thoughts. Oliver was with him, right now, his tongue stroking his, his spit in his mouth; his body, warm, almost too warm, almost too heavy, on Elio’s body. He was hard and pressed against Elio’s tummy. He was everything Elio dreamt of.

“Fuck me, Elio?”, Elio asked against Oliver’s mouth. He was expecting protests but he didn’t receive any; Oliver only twined the fingers of a hand with Elio’s fingers on the pillow above his head, kissed Elio’s chest, descended along his ribs to the tense skin of Elio’s belly; rose back up to kiss Elio’s mouth, as he entered him. It felt like a pinch, it was totally endurable, but it also made him cry against Oliver’s lips.  
And Elio was proud.

_Look what you do to me, Oliver. Look how we work together. We work. My body will always want yours and your body will always want mine._

“Harder,” Elio smiled against Oliver’s mouth.  
Oliver smiled back.

Was this what happiness felt like?

Elio came first, and so he got to watch Oliver. The way he moved carefully, until he didn’t; the way he looked at Elio’s mouth when they weren’t kissing, the way his thumb pressed on Elio’s lower lip until all the colour had gone, only to watch it rush back after.

“Next time, you?”, Oliver murmured on Elio’s throat, spent. Elio just about managed to catch his words.

Next time. _Next time._

Next time. Elio’s two favourite words.

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Please leave a comment if you liked it, or I will feel like I’m talking to myself :) x


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